Photograph
by antiIRONY
Summary: A SkitteryRace one shot, based on the song Photograph by Action Action.


**Notes: **Ah! I'm finally posting a story, after however many years! This is a Skittery/ Race story, simply because they are my favorite characters, and, I really haven't seen too many out there. ALSO, Thank-you to Thumbsucker Snitch for being my beta.

**Disclaimer: **Alas, although it deeply saddens me, I do not in fact own Newsies. Not even the little non-speaking characters. sigh I also do not own the song "Photograph" by Action Action. BUT I do own my own ratty cabby hat, which I am currently wearing for inspiration. So, without further ado, here it is!

Also, _writing like this_ indicates character thought, and **Writing like this **will be used for the song lyrics. I'm sure you all would have figured that out, but I thought I'd just clarify.

**Pretty darling, stop running down my street**

**The tears are dropping like a nuclear meltdown**

**I never meant to let it come to this**

**Can we blame it on timing, not chemistry…**

"HOLY FUCKING-AY!"

And that my friends, is when the shit hit the fan. I was caught. "Race, wait! Racetrack! I'm so sorry, it's not what it looks like! Please come back!" I shouted after my long-time best friend, and more recently boyfriend, as I pushed off of the body under me, and chased after him down the stairs and out the front door. He was smaller than me, by a lot, but his speed more than made up for his minute stature. When I made it to the front yard, I saw him still running, half way down the street, I knew it was no good. I had lost him. I sniffed, and realized that I was crying.

"Fuck!" I muttered to myself, as I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my hooded sweatshirt. I slowly walked back up the stairs to my room, and sat down on my bed.

"Spot, you should leave." I said. Sighing, he got up and put his pants on.

"Skits…" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "This is so fucked up."

I took a shuddery breath, and rolled onto my side, so I was facing the wall. I heard him sigh again, and walk out of the room, softly shutting the door on his way out. I was left alone, to remember…

**All night long, I'll sing the same somber song**

**Attack my decisions, and the horse they rode on**

**Everything seems to be less than zero**

**A mascara hero with a heart of zinc**.

I was exhausted, but I knew I would never be able to get to sleep. Too many memories ran through my head. I had been friends with Race since we were three, but back then he was called Tony. It wasn't until we were in sixth grade that he got the nickname 'Racetrack,' due to his particular career choice, in the annual Career Day, Tony wanted to be a jockey. Which, we all thought was perfect, since he was so small, and jockeys had to be small. He decided to call me Skittery, because I was very jumpy, and severely ticklish. He said that it was only fair that I have a nickname, if he had one. Ever since I can remember, Race has always been there. When we got to high school, things became different. Race started to care what people thought about him, and soon took up smoking cigars. He thought they made him look tough. Being so small, I can understand why he tried so hard to look older, when at seventeen, he barely looked twelve. I'd like to say that I didn't change in high school, but that would be a lie. I wanted things to stay the way they were between the two of us, but as we grow up, we're forced to make decisions that alter our futures.

I really can't remember when I started looking at Race differently, I suppose it may have started as far back as when we were ten. I remember one day when we just sat there, talking. We talked about everything. Race told me that his father hit his older brother, Miles, and he just couldn't understand why it had been Miles who received the beatings, and he who was left alone. I told him about my mother's cancer, and how the medicine made her sick, and how when the chemotherapy made her hair fall out, she let me draw on her head with crayola markers. I never laughed at anything he told me, and he never laughed at the things I told him. I remember one day, when I looked over at him, I saw his dark, scruffy hair, his impish grin, his mischievous eyes, I saw my best friend, I saw a person, I saw a person who I knew I needed. I needed him like I needed air. I knew that what we had went beyond friendship, but as a child, you are unaffected by such labels as "gay" or "straight," I was just content with us being us.

As I said, high school is when things really changed. I knew that past our friendship, there was love, and it was very hard for me to admit it, but I was in love with Race. It didn't come out until our freshmen year, at a party at our friend, Jack's house. Many hours, and even more tequilas later we were making out on a ratty couch in Jack's garage. When it was well past the time when we had to be home, and we were sober enough to drive, I drove Race home, neither of us looking at each other. When I stopped the car at his house, I told him I would see him tomorrow, and that was the end of the discussion. We were together and that was that. No need for long winded discussions. Our friends didn't care about our sexual preference, or that we were dating, in fact, Mush said that he thought we had been together all along. The people who mattered didn't care, and the people who seemed to have a problem with us, didn't bother us, after I kicked their asses a few times. We had each other, and that was all that mattered.

**I never should have kissed…**

**I never should have…**

**And I never should have kissed those lips before**

**I never should've let you out my door**

**But now I'm stuck here with your photograph.**

"What did I do…" I whispered out loud to my empty room, as I lay awake staring up at the glow-in- the-dark constellations on my ceiling, but it was a rhetorical question. I knew exactly what I did. And what I did… well, lets just say, it most definitely wasn't one of my finer moments.

Things were going so well, Race and I had been an official couple for over three years. Things were pretty much the same as they had been when we were just friends, only with more kissing, and snuggling. Then, I met Spot. Spot transferred into our school from somewhere in Brooklyn in the middle of our senior year. He was immediately welcomed into our circle of friends, although he pretty much kept to himself. He had an air of mystery to him, he was a bad boy, he smoked, he drank, and he was in a band. He played guitar, and sang lead vocals. His voice was strong and clear, and his band, The Newsies, was actually quite good, and quite big in the "local scene." All the girls wanted him, and although he could have any girl he wanted, he chose to fly solo. Many rumors circulated that he was dating some girl in Brooklyn, and that she had become pregnant, and he was sent away, or that he was dating that punk girl from the VJ Search on Fuse. We never asked, it just didn't matter. I was quite intrigued by Spot. His name, unlike the rest of ours, which were nicknames, was his real name. He said that his parents had wanted a dog, but had him instead… I'm still not sure if he was joking or not. Well, anywho, for our Advertising class, Spot and I were picked to work together to design a menu for a restaurant. I suggested that Spot come to my house after school to work on it, and that afternoon we hung out in my room, listening to music. As it turned out we both had similar taste, mine favoring indie/rock/punk, him being straight punk.

"I didn't get a girl pregnant, you know. That's not why I'm here." He said to me, unexpectedly.

"I know." I said.

"I'm gay. I was kicked out of my house by my parents. They weren't going to have a fag as a son." He said softly, looking away as he wiped a tear out of his eye.

"I live here with my aunt. She's a lesbian, so she understands me." He continued.

I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to tell me if he didn't want to, but I understood that he needed to get it all off his chest, and the only thing I could do for him was listen, and be his friend.

"What would everyone think if they knew my secret… big bad Spot Conlon's a queer." He laughed bitterly, and suddenly looked up at me.

"So, Skittery, does this change anything?" He asked looking directly into my eyes.

I didn't answer. I couldn't, honestly, I was shocked to hell. This was the last thing I had expected. Taking my lack of answer as a yes, this did change things. Spot sighed, and stood up, grabbing his leather jacket preparing to leave. Before he could get too far, I grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward me, and kissed him hard on the lips. I could tell he was surprised at first, but then started to kiss back. We eventually ended up on my bed, kissing, touching, and just being there together. Racetrack never entered my mind. I know I should have been thinking of my best friend, my one true love, but at that moment, all there was was Spot. Then Race walked in, and everything went to hell in a hand basket.

Knowing sleep was a long way off, I sighed and sat up. Rubbing my eyes in an attempt to clear them, I sat there for a minute hoping for my eyes to focus. When they did, my gaze landed on a picture of Race. Racetrack. Anthony. My best friend. My love. _What am I going to do?_

**The words you chant I never thought they'd be so true**

**Dancing in my head**

**So pause this moment 'till we meet in our next life:**

**A black tabby house cat**

**A bottle of Xanax.**

I walked into the bathroom, and switched on the light. I opened the medicine cabinet looking for something to help me sleep. I found a bottle of my dad's Xanax, it was the only thing keeping him sane through my mom's bout with cancer. I took the bottle, and went to the kitchen to find something to wash a couple down with. I detest water, so that was out. I found some vodka in the cupboard, and decided that was an excellent way to numb the pain, I would drink myself stupid. Then I took both back to my room. When I got to my room I sat at my desk, and had a few gulps of the vodka, it burned on the way down, but the feeling pleased me, with every swallow, it was erasing the memories, and guilt. I downed a handful of Xanax with the vodka, and made my way to bed. I didn't want to think about anything, I just wanted to sleep. During the few minutes before sleep claimed me, I thought about Race. I love him so much. I didn't mean to hurt him. Spot was just so sad, I thought kissing him seemed like the right thing to do. I just wanted to make everyone happy. Poor Spot, I couldn't imagine being disowned just because I was gay. I guess I was very lucky I had such tolerant parents. They never made me feel guilty for being gay, but because I was gay, I felt that I had to work twice as hard to please them. I needed to be everyone's little golden boy. _Ugh, STOP THINKING!_ I was concerned that I hadn't fallen asleep yet, and I attempted to read the label on the Xanax bottle. It was fuzzy, and the letters just didn't make sense. I saw the warning symbol. Do not mix with alcohol, and remembered that my father never started drinking to beat the depression, and what he told me. It's a fatal combination. _Fatal_, I laughed to myself, perish the thought. AsI lay on my back, trying to fall asleep, my cat Blaize sat on my chest, and I pet him, listening to him purr, until everything went black.

**All night long is one repeated love song**

**When have I become this tree**

**Till we meet in our brand new world**

**I'll count the rings**

**If you tie a string.**

**Author's Note:** Well kiddies, that was it. Please, please comment. I'd really like to get a feel for how I'm doing.


End file.
